The Golden Pussy

But I never look on roses dye, but to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight

Keats

Today I found pink rose petals on the ground,

Friends in summer, summer transmutes life to singing chorus of love sound,

Upon the rose petals I found, I took a picture, the only of you I have.

How do I transmute your portrait into you?

How make you real,  held, rose petals to alchemical gold?

And then I want to capture it, to own you in spirit, and your beauty, makes me selfish,

Tho it’s love, it’s true, my selfishness transmutes to dutiful poems serving you,

To find that the Holy Grail, transmute summer petal into golden pussy,

Find it, like that night in a beatific vision, you, g, right there before me,

Transmuted me into someone who serves you only,

My strength, it leaves me, passes into love, passes on, passes by in your beauty,

My heart, it strengthens in your stately presence,

And between metamorphing shapes of gold alchemy (well in truth, it’s your pussy)

How does love turn pink into gold, love become flesh,

Your golden pussy, pass into soul union, how to become one,

When you think I’m not real, to begin a date with a simple text, how have you been, and then a fuck

Why do I transmute all lofty thought, now,  into flesh?